


One Stranger's Eve

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Crack, Dark Comedy, F/M, Fluff and Murder, Halloween Costumes, Lotr Shout Out, Minor Character Death, Slasher AU, Sort Of, some gore, student life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:46:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: In which there is a Stranger's Eve party, a Lord of the Rings costume theme, almost kissing, and a potentially supernatural murderer on the loose.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 13
Kudos: 49





	One Stranger's Eve

It was touch and go whether the annual Stranger’s Eve party would still take place. Six murders in four days, everyone was a little uneasy about walking the streets after dark. Grizzly ones too. Aenys Frey had been found garroted in a Sainsbury's changing room, and Bethany Bracken had been discovered with her severed head skewered on an iron gate. 

Already, rumours of the Smiling Knight began to spread, and survivors of the first massacre were begging students to stay safe on Stranger’s Eve. It was nonsense of course, the Smiling Knight had been declared dead ten years ago, drowned in Blackwater Rush.

Of course, no body ever was found, but no human could survive the injuries done to him that night before his final fall into the treacherous waters. 

Nevertheless, _someone_ was going around gutting people. That could not be denied.

But the Crossroads Inn was a small, independently owned pub and couldn’t really afford losing the cash. The usual suspects, unwilling to forgo one of the best drinking nights of the year; (first round half-price, Stranger's Even special!), agreed that as long as they stayed in a group, there was no risk. 

The Crossroads Inn, favourite haunt of Riverrun University alumni, was bedecked in banners, with swords and shields hung upon the wall and paper-mache boulders and fake moss strewn across the floor. Beer was served in flagons and specials of spit roasted pork and chicken featured heavily on the blackboard, scrawled in chalk beneath a declaration of ‘Looks like meat’s back on the menu boys!’

The theme this year was Lord of the Rings.

Jaime never used to celebrate Stranger’s Eve. Dressing up in costumes to confuse the Stranger and its angels as they wandered the streets, searching for souls to claim, was a game for fools. And _Lannisters do not act like fools._

_Lannisters do not act like fools_ was a refrain commonly heard throughout Jaime’s childhood.

Want to eat dessert and no vegetables... like a fool? _Lannisters do not act like fools!_

Won’t brush your teeth for two minutes... like a fool? _Lannisters do not act like fools!_

Want to stay up past midnight to queue up for the new ‘Warrior of the Many Face God’ book…..like a fool? _Lannisters. Do. Not. Act. Like. FOOLS!_

And so on. 

But Stranger’s Eve was a night for acting the fool. For dressing up and getting flat out drunk and dancing on table tops until dizziness and drink turned the world into an impressionist portrait. And far, far away from Casterly Rock, free from his father, Jaime was a giddy as an eight year old to experience his first ever Stranger’s Eve. Even with the recent spree of graphic murders.

Tywin had already all but disowned Jaime for taking up Medieval Literature instead of Business studies, dressing up in armour and waving around a sword was just small fry compared to that.

Robb Stark, dressed as Boromir, son of Denethor, arrived at the Crossroads Inn at the head of his troupe. He met Jaime’s eyes and strode up to him. Back straight, shoulders broad and lips pinched, Stark and Lannister stood toe to toe.

“Brother!” Robb cried, engulfing Jaime into a bone crushing embrace.

“Brother!” Jaime reciprocated, thumping Robb in the back. 

Robb grinned, lowering his voice to normal. “Faramir?” he inquired, “It’s a great costume but I hadn’t thought of you…”

“Well,” Jaime said with a rakish smile. “I knew everyone would be dressing to the theme and I made an educated guess.”

Behind Robb filed the rest of the gang. Jaime watched them bustle in, rowdy already from the pre-party drinking.

Jon and Sam were appropriately matched in their Frodo and Samwise attire. And Renly and Loras looked most pleased with themselves as a rather touchy feely Aragorn and Legolas. Arya, near unrecognisable beneath a giant red wig and fake beard, stumped in behind and waved about an axe that looked a little too real. Bran Stark, cunningly draped in robes of black and grey, with a pointed headdress crowned with the Great Eye, swept in behind her. Margaery and Daenerys were ethereally beautiful in exquisitely embroidered gowns with long draping sleeves, as Arwen and Galadriel respectively.

A shivering Sansa had missed the memo and dressed up as the Little Mermaid.

The youngest Stark boy grinned impishly as he dashed in, the mirth in his eyes complementing his Pippin dress.

That just left…

Jaime smiled in triumph. He had wagered wisely.

Jaunty in his yellow waistcoat, Pod came in and joined his fellow Hobbits. Coming at the rear, glorious in armour and striding with the purpose of one fresh off the battlefield, _she_ came. 

Beneath her helmet and heavy armour, Jaime could barely see Brienne's face. But he had known the moment he heard this year’s theme Brienne would come as Eowyn, and if her height had not immediately marked her out, the brilliant blue eyes beneath the helmet would have made her identity clear.

The gang all gathered together, Tyrion stood before Robb and whacked him on the knees with a paper-mache staff.

“You shall not pass!” he cried, “Unless it’s to buy the first round!”

~

“Say it! Say it! Say it!” the students chanted, thumping their goblets against the table tops, spilling beer down their costumes.

With an indulgent roll of the eye, Robb leaned to one side, rested his arm on his arm rest and sighed “One does not simply _walk_ into Mordor.”

There were cheers, followed by much drinking. They were all sloshed, and quoting memes was the height of wit in their inebriated brains. Loras had already nearly cracked his head open when he stood on the slippery table, and declared with great fervour that “They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard.” He slipped, and Renly took much pleasure in catching him. 

Even through the hazy fog of beer, Jaime noted that Brienne’s laughter was quieter than the rest, and her smile noticeably strained. She _was_ the group’s designated driver, as she was nine nights out of ten. But even taking her sobriety and general dourness into account, she was unusually strained. 

_The Smiling Knight._ Brienne’s eyes were flickering to the doors and windows, and her hand was resting on the hilt of her dulled collector's blade that couldn’t stick somebody, but would provide a mighty whack around the head. The group’s designated driver/bodyguard. The armour of a great knight was more than just a costume on his dear Brienne.

But Jaime knew a way to coax a smile onto his Wench’s face.

Swigging down the last of his beer, he stumbled to his feet, throwing a black chair runner over his head and shoulders, and snatching a black witch’s hat from a passing customer. He stood on the table, raising his hands for silence.

“Come on Wench!” he insisted, grabbing her hand and tugging her to her feet. “You know what has to be done.”

A cheer rose. Arya grabbed Brienne’s helmet and rammed it back to front on Brienne’s head. Podrick shot from his seat and ran behind Jaime, plastic sword in hand, as Brienne un-blinded herself and put her helmet to rights. 

Jaime reached out, not so much throttling Brienne as much as cupping her cheek.

“You fool,” he thundered. “No man can kill me. Die now.”

With more dramatic flare than Jaime had credited her with, Brienne removed her helmet and shook out her shoulder length hair.

“I am no man,” she proclaimed. She looked so bold, so stalwart. Jaime’s heart thudded slightly beneath his armour, and he could feel the world slipping away from him.

And the floor. Pod had whacked him a little too hard on the back of his knees and Jaime went skidding onto his back. He clutched at Brienne to stay upright, only to drag her down on top him. The weight of her muscles and armour combined crushed down on him, her breath smelled of the pineapple juice she had been sipping. 

Dazed, she hovered above him. But as her blue eyes cleared she lingered over Jaime, her lips hovering next to his. Jaime’s heart pounded against his crushed ribs. This had worked out so much better than he had hoped.

“Why is Faramir being topped by an orc?”

Brienne blinked, and stumbled off the table and back to her feet.

Ronnet Connington, red faced and red haired with a pint in both hands, smirked as Brienne looked at her feet, hunching in on herself.

“My apologies,” he drawled, “I didn’t realise it was only Tarth. I thought it was an uncommonly ugly orc costume.”

“Shut up Connington,” Jaime snarled, to murmurs of agreement from the table. 

Even as Ron tried to keep up a brazen face, he cowered beneath the force of the glowers directed at him. Even if the table’s weapons were mostly made of plastic; Brienne and Arya Stark excluded, between the lot they could still do some harm. And even Ron had to admit that Brienne and Arya were the last people he wanted to face him down with real weapons.

He stumbled off as quickly as his feet allowed, stomach churning from something other than drink.

Jaime turned to comfort Brienne, and maybe see if she wanted to lie on top of him again, when she mumbled something and left the table. He watched her walk away, expecting to see her head in the direction of the toilets. Instead, she made for the door. Dimly remembering something about a mass murderer hanging about, Jaime followed her.

“Brienne?” he called, when he found her hanging out on the front door step.

Brienne gave him a tight smile. “Just getting some air,” she said gruffly. “It’s warm in there, and this armour isn’t helping.”

“I can help you take it off later, if you like?” Jaime offered, crouching down beside Brienne.

“Sorry if I squashed you a bit earlier,” Brienne said sheepishly. She looked down at herself with loathing. “Great ugly brute.”

“Hey!” Jaime said, placing his hand over Brienne’s. “If you must know, I quite liked being under you. It was cosy.”

Brienne snorted, a genuine smile slipping onto her face. He leaned forward, wrapping an arm around her broad shoulders. 

“You know when you fell on top of me, I couldn’t think of anywhere else I would rather be.”

Brienne’s eyes widened. “Really?” she asked softly.

Jaime ran a thumb along her lower lip. “Well, perhaps I would have preferred fewer witnesses,” he conceded. “Like right now. This seems a pretty good moment.”

Jaime saw her shoulders drop and her tense back easing as he leaned into her, before a rustle in the roses bushes next the pub caused them both to start and look over their shoulders at the empty black shadows down the side of the pub, and the long grey pavement sprawled out before them, lit up by the dim yellow streetlights.

Ron stumbled out of the bushes, wiping vomit off his chin. He tried to stagger back towards the pub with some dignity, before turning green and running straight back to the bushes.

“On second thought,” Jaime said decisively, “Perhaps back in the pub is the way to go.”

He stood, brushed down his costume, and extended a gallant hand to Brienne. She bashfully accepted, her cheeks red from something other than the warmth from her armour, and hand in and hand they rejoined their friends.

The next day, they updated their social media accounts from ‘single’ to ‘in a relationship’, an announcement that; although met with much relief and rejoicing from their friends, was somewhat overshadowed by the news that Ronnet Connington was found in the bushes outside the Inn at the Crossroads, intestines splattered on the floor and gutted belly stuffed with flowers. 


End file.
